


All The Little Signs Add Up

by ConsentFest, Lynds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (also in the past) - Freeform, (past) - Freeform, Consent Issues, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Gaslighting, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Healthy Relationships, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-10-19 09:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17599112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsentFest/pseuds/ConsentFest, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds
Summary: Harry starts to notice some worrying signs in his relationship with Draco. He flinches when Harry moves too quickly, he thinks everything is going to be blamed on him, and he doesn't think his own desires count.Harry, fresh from dealing with his own childhood PTSD, jumps to some conclusions. Some of them are right, some of them are way off.





	All The Little Signs Add Up

**Author's Note:**

> For prompt 49:
> 
> Recovery fic - character A has been in an abusive relationship, and while they are ready for another relationship, and want to move on with character B, there are still some echoes of the previous relationships which haunt them - they have PTSD, certain things are still triggers for them, and they find it very difficult to have a conversation with their partner, when they're used to these things going very differently. How do they overcome these barriers to have a healthy relationship (and assist character A's recovery)
> 
> Thank you so much to [PalenDrome (Nerdherderette)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome) for an incredible Beta!

Harry knew things weren’t quite right when he realised Draco wasn’t hard.

Obviously that wasn’t an indication in itself, but given the fact that Draco had his hand around Harry’s cock at the time and his face pressed into Harry’s neck, moaning soft kisses into his sweaty skin… well, that wasn’t right. Right?

And Harry only realised it because he had shifted his leg, nudging his thigh against Draco’s crotch, and suddenly the fact that Draco had gently pushed his hand away about a minute ago made a certain amount of horrifying sense.

Draco looked up with a concerned frown. “Harry?”

Harry blinked and struggled to find the right words, fighting through the fog of lust and confusion. “You’re not…”

Draco inhaled sharply. “I’m… shit, Harry, I’m sorry, it’s just… look, don’t worry about it, let me just--”

Harry held his wrist and Draco went perfectly still in his arms. “Is everything OK?”

“Yes! Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“But you’re not… you know…”

Draco huffed, his muscles still rigid under Harry’s touch. “It’s fine, Harry. Sometimes I’m just… not in the mood. But you are, and--”

“But you _started_ it,” Harry almost wailed, feeling guilty and _angry_ , at himself, at Draco. “You were the one who--”

“No, I wasn’t,” Draco snapped, propping himself up on his elbow, almost snarling at Harry. God, he was unbearably sexy, even like this. “You were rubbing up against my arse--”

“I was spooning you! I thought you liked cuddles. I--”

“You were hard!”

Harry huffed. “I’m always hard around you! My cock’s like a fucking compass that points due Draco, it doesn’t mean you have to force yourself to do something about--” He covered his mouth suddenly, slumping back against the pillow. “Oh my God; I feel sick.”

Draco’s eyes went hard and cold. “Well, I’m terribly sorry for disgusting you.”

“No! No, Draco, please.” Harry knelt on the bed in front of him, clutching one of Draco’s hands between his own. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I should have… should have _checked_ or something, I just assumed, and _fuck_ , I’m so, so fucking sorry.” He pressed Draco’s hand to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. “I’ll do better next time, baby, I swear--”

“Harry, hey…” Draco stroked his head. “It’s fine; you have nothing to apologise for. You’re acting like you… like you forced me, or something.” He chuckled. It didn’t make Harry feel any better. “Look,” said Draco. “I didn’t want it; you did. It’s not fair to expect you to ignore it.”

Harry stared up at Draco in shock. “What? N-no! That’s not how it works.” He tugged gently, relieved when Draco allowed himself to be pulled into Harry’s arms. “Sex has to go both ways; It isn’t fair to _you_ otherwise. I only want it if you want it.”

“But that…” Draco sounded bewildered, and something angry and protective ignited quietly inside Harry. “Isn’t that selfish?”

Harry pulled Draco close and kissed his head, squeezing his eyes shut to hold this aimless anger in. “If I want an orgasm that bad, I can have one by myself. If we have sex when you don’t want it, you can’t… un-have it.”

Draco was silent. He rested his hand tentatively on Harry’s chest, pressing himself closer. When Harry pulled him in, he seemed to deflate, plastering himself against him. One leg slipped between Harry’s knees; his nose nuzzled into his neck, and his fingers tangled in Harry’s shirt. “Are you sure?” he whispered.

It was the clingy, tangled-up position Draco always adopted after sex, and Harry hated himself. He tightened his arms around Draco’s ribs. “Always,” he whispered back. “Draco, please… please don’t force yourself again? I just want to be _close_ to you, and this is perfect. And if I get hard and you don’t want to do any more, please, please don’t pretend you do, love? Please?”

Draco didn’t answer for a tense moment, then nodded, his face still tucked away.

***

When Harry pulled him into a tangle again the next night, tucking his limbs around Draco and kissing his temple, Draco tensed. Harry held himself still, trying very hard not to show any of his own tension as well. “Goodnight, love,” he said, kissing his hair.

“‘Night,” Draco said softly, and slowly the tension seemed to drain from his body until he was snoring, his breath tickling the hairs at the top of Harry’s chest.

Harry didn’t sleep for a long time. He lay awake and stared into the night, and counted all the other signs that something was terribly wrong.

2

It had been eight days since then, the longest they’d gone without sex since Draco had moved in six months ago. But the more time passed, the more determined Harry became to not initiate sex.

Because for every one of those eight nights, Draco had curled into his arms, tentative and almost expectant. And whenever Harry sighed and snuggled and kept his petting to Draco’s shoulders and back, he’d felt Draco relax and exhale.

It made him look back on their whole relationship with different eyes. There was something behind all of this, and he was beginning to think it wasn’t the sex at all.

First, there was that time he got grumpy with the research he was doing. He’d slammed his book shut and thrown his hands in the air, and Draco had ducked. Draco laughed it off afterwards, but now that Harry was consciously looking out for signs -- they came thick and fast; one memory was followed by another, and another. How Draco went still and quiet when Harry argued with someone. How stressed he got when someone questioned his memory of events. Hell, he’d even offered to take Veritaserum and let Hermione see his memories in the Pensieve when she was skeptical about some of the notes he’d brought back from his Potions mastery.

“I can’t believe it’s taken me, of all people, this long to see it,” Harry told his Mind Healer, his hands digging into his hair. “It’s every single one of the signs I show when I get stressed and… flashback-y. God, I’m so selfish!”

Philomena regarded him, her head tilted to one side. “Have you always recognised your own trauma symptoms, though?” He frowned up at her. “I mean,” she continued, “you’ve only just started to acknowledge that your childhood was traumatic in a number of ways. And one of the first things you’re doing with that new knowledge is being concerned for your boyfriend? I think that’s the opposite of selfish.” She then smiled at him fondly over her specs. “I also think it’s rather taking us away from the subject of _you_ , Harry.”

Harry smiled ruefully and refocused on the centring exercises she’d asked him to practise for the week, his thumb rubbing over the anxiety beads Draco had given him after a panic attack a few months ago. 

He’d felt so ashamed, losing his control in front of Draco like that, back when they’d just moved in together, but Draco had sat on the floor with him for hours, texting their friends like a roll call to assure Harry that everyone was safe, he didn’t have to fight any more. 

And then the very next day Draco had given him a string of black beads which each contained what looked like a swirling galaxy of stars, pulsing in a calming rhythm. “You can use it to measure your breathing,” Draco had said, shuffling his feet and looking awkward. “I mean, you don’t have to wear them, just keep them in your pocket. Or I can make them invisible to anyone else if you want--”

“Thank you,” he’d said, kissing him, and Draco had smiled down at him so sweetly. Harry stared into the beads now and used the rhythm as Philomena had taught him, controlling his breathing while he worked through his issues. It was like having Draco there with him, one long thumb rubbing Harry’s shoulder, supporting him silently and completely. 

Harry wanted to be there for Draco, too.

***

He was always emotionally exhausted after his Mind Healing sessions but he felt determined as well, with a firm plan in mind to sit Draco down and really talk about his past and his triggers, and what Harry could do to help. But when he walked through the door, all his intentions dissolved in the warmth of _home, Draco, safe._

He felt a soppy smile wash over his face when he saw Draco standing at the kitchen counter, his hip cocked to the left as he tapped one fingernail on the contents page of a recipe book. Harry walked behind him and wrapped both arms around Draco’s waist, fitting himself snugly against his back. Harry could never get close enough; he always wanted more of Draco, more touch, more contact, more assurance that Draco had really chosen _him_ and wasn’t going anywhere. He smiled and sighed into Draco’s shoulder blades.

“Afternoon, octopus,” teased Draco as he leaned into the embrace. “Good day?”

Harry just rumbled a wordless response and rubbed one hand up Draco’s chest to press him closer. His thumb skated over Draco’s nipple, hard under the soft t-shirt, and Draco sucked in a sharp breath.

“Hmm, sorry,” Harry mumbled, shifting his hand a little and not bothering to open his eyes.

But Draco linked their fingers together, pulling Harry’s hand slowly down the plane of his flat stomach, down over his jeans, over the hard, throbbing bulge of his erection.

Harry gasped, his own cock springing to desperate attention. “Are you--”

“I swear, Potter, if you ask me if I’m sure, I will hex you.”

“I’ll check for consent as often as I damn well please,” Harry growled back, squeezing Draco’s cock so he moaned. His head dropped back, and Harry pressed his own crotch hard against Draco’s arse.

“Fuck me, Harry,” Draco whispered, turning his face to press kisses onto Harry’s jaw. “I want you to bend me over and fuck me against this counter right now.”

Harry groaned and bit the tender skin just below Draco’s earlobe. He started tugging at his jeans button, his fingers clumsy in their desperation. “Christ, look at you,” he murmured, his mind thick and fuzzy with lust. Draco’s cheeks were flushed pink, his lips parted, dusky eyelashes fluttering on his perfect cheekbones. Harry held Draco’s chin with one hand, the other reaching into his jeans. He groaned along with Draco as he wrapped his fingers around Draco’s hot shaft.

“Perfect,” Harry breathed. “Christ, look at you; you’re the most perfect man I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t know where it had come from; he’d never been particularly vocal during sex. But Draco’s eyes flew open at his words, grey irises almost obscured by black pupil, and wailed Harry’s name, his back arching as he came all over Harry’s fingers.

Harry blinked, stupid and hot, with a sharp spike of lust upon seeing Draco come like that with no warning whatsoever. “Did you… holy shit, did you just…?”

“Oh my God… oh God…” Draco covered his face with shaking hands and pulled roughly out of Harry’s grasp. 

“Draco, wait!” But he was gone, stumbling into their bathroom, leaving Harry blinking stupidly after him, confused and still more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.

He shook his head and tried not to look at his hand, still streaked with Draco’s come. He followed him to the bathroom and knocked. “Babe? Please come out?”

Draco didn’t answer, but Harry could hear water running in the sink. “Talk to me? Please?” he said softly. He leaned his forehead against the door frame until he heard the lock click.

Draco opened the door, and Harry’s heart ached. His shoulders were hunched, his fingers tangled in front of him, and he wouldn’t look Harry in the eye, his fine blond hair falling into his face. “I don’t suppose we could collectively forget that ever happened?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Why would you want to?” he blurted. “I mean...Jesus, Draco, do you have any idea how hot you looked?”

“I just… look, that was humiliating, and…” His voice faded, almost tired. “Just… don’t laugh at me?” he said softly.

“Laugh at you?” Harry gaped, reaching out for him. “I’m not laughing. I really don’t think you see how fucking sexy that was.” He wrapped his fingers around Draco’s wrist when he saw his eyes flicker uncertainly, pulling him closer. “Seeing you come apart like that with nothing more than a few words… it made me feel powerful and wanted and… trusted. Like I might actually deserve you one day. The only shameful thing is that I obviously haven’t complimented you in bed enough because we’ve been together for months, and I hadn’t worked it out.”

He reeled Draco in, wanting to wrap himself around Draco’s taller body, to protect him, cherish him. “I can’t wait to learn more about this. I can’t wait to show you what I think about every part of you--how incredibly beautiful you are, how sexy you look with your head spread out on my pillow. How _good_ you are for me.”

Draco gasped, almost inaudibly. “I’m not good,” he snapped, turning his face away. 

“You are,” Harry insisted. “You’re _so_ good, Draco. You work so hard, you’re a brilliant teacher, you do so much to help your friends. You look after me; you’re so damn _kind_ , even though you try to hide it.”

Draco pushed at his chest weakly, his neck flushed pink. “Don’t _mock_ me.”

Harry shook his head and kissed his throat, feeling Draco’s muscles flutter under his lips. “I’m not mocking you. I’m not lying. Everything I’m gonna praise you for is the truth, and I’m going to tell you how stunning and perfect and wonderful you are until you’re weak and moaning and writhing on my cock.”

Harry’s heart beat faster. If Draco’s eyes weren’t half-lidded, his mouth falling open, Harry would have kept quiet. He’d never considered talking during sex; why would anyone want to hear his voice? But Draco’s chest was heaving as Harry dragged his fingernails down his chest, his cock straining at his jeans. Harry bit his lip and kicked down his embarrassment, his inhibitions, and leaned into it. 

“And then,” he said, kissing Draco’s throat as his fingers undid Draco’s buttons, “I’m going to tell you how hot your arse feels clenching around me, how beautiful your cock looks leaking all over your belly.”

Draco kissed him so hard Harry thought he might have drawn blood, wild and desperate. “Please… please, yes, fuck me. Please tell me… tell me I’m good.”

Harry covered the ache in his chest by pulling Draco close, pressing their hips together and cupping his face in both hands to kiss him. He walked them towards the bedroom as Draco tugged at his clothes, and Harry stripped them both, almost frantic, his cock painfully constricted by his jeans. It took all of his willpower to pull back as he stroked Draco’s sharp cheekbones with both thumbs.

“Undress for me,” he said, not quite making it a command, just testing the waters. Draco took a step back, his eyes hooded. He undid the last of his buttons, letting the sleeves fall from his shoulders. Harry bit his lip and held his hands back. He wanted to touch, but he’d asked Draco to do something, and he wasn’t going to make it difficult for him, not this time. Draco pushed his trousers down, shimmying a little, and Harry’s mouth watered like it did every time he saw his incredible body. He stood before Harry, naked and aroused, and Harry wanted to worship him.

Harry must have been really lust-drunk, because it took him a moment to remember that worshiping Draco was literally what he was here for. He dropped to his knees, his fingers running over the tops of Draco’s feet, around his ankles, up his calves, tracing the shapes of his muscles and tendons, stroking the soft skin behind his knees. “Sit down on the edge of the bed,” he said, glancing up at Draco, who was staring down at him, speechless. “Try not to come. Can you do that for me? Can you be good for me?”

Draco nodded, his hair bouncing as he stumbled back onto the edge of the bed. His knees fell open and Harry crawled between them, running his hands up and down, in the hollows of his ankles, over the bumps of his knees, along the strong muscles of his legs, fluttering once he reached the soft, hairless skin on the inside of his thighs. Draco’s hands clenched the duvet as Harry ran a finger down his cock, down his balls, then back up again to wrap his fingers around the length of his cock.

“I’m going to suck you,” he said. The flush on Draco’s cheeks darkened at his words, making lust shoot fire down Harry’s groin. “I’m going to suck you, and work you open at the same time, and I don’t want you to make a noise while I do it. Can you do that, Draco? Can you be good for me?”

Draco nodded. “I can be good, Harry… fuck, I can be so good for you. Please.”

Harry flicked out his tongue and let his eyes fall shut as he tasted him. He could feel Draco shudder, heard his teeth click shut around a moan as Harry swirled his tongue around the head of his cock. “Lie back, beautiful,” he said, and he didn’t know where that voice had come from, how he’d become this person who sounded like he knew what he was doing. He watched as Draco stretched himself out on the bed, his legs wide, his arms up by his head to clutch the pillows, his teeth digging into his lips, and Harry felt the world tilt under him. What was he doing? What the hell made him think he could be trusted with this? What if he did it wrong? What if he upset Draco? What if he wasn’t good enough for him?

He looked at his boyfriend again, his lover, this perfect person laid out just for him. He realised it didn’t matter what he thought of himself. Draco was looking up at him like he meant the world, and he couldn’t let him down. He never wanted to let him down. A fire lit in his heart, a fierce pride that someone so wonderful could feel like that about _him._

He crawled onto the bed and skimmed his hands up Draco’s calves and thighs. “Remember,” he murmured. “Not a sound until I say you can, or I’ll stop, OK?”

Draco nodded again, eager and desperate, and it made Harry’s chest swell, his heart large enough to encompass the room and keep them both safe. He silently cast a lubrication spell, slicking his fingers as he tilted Draco’s legs, lifting one knee over his shoulder. 

He dipped his head, keeping his eye on Draco’s heaving chest as he took his cock into his mouth again, lips stretching into a smirk as Draco pressed one shaking hand to his mouth, biting down to keep silent. Harry rubbed his tongue up and down the shaft and, at the same time, slipped his slick fingers between Draco’s arse cheeks, rubbing around his hole, feeling it flex and twitch and give as he massaged him.

He could feel Draco’s toes curling, his back arching as Harry slipped one finger deep inside, but he didn’t make a sound, and Harry was so proud. He reached up with his free hand, rubbing it over Draco’s belly and chest, sucking his cock deeper into his mouth as Draco grabbed his fingers, linking them together and clutching hard. He could feel him writhing, twisting, breathing hard as he plunged his finger in, then joined it with a second, pressing, rubbing, stretching. He felt Draco’s cock pulse little spurts of precome as he pressed against his prostate for the first time, the slightest hint of a whimper under his breath. 

He looked up at Draco’s sweaty, pink body, his lithe figure twisted and flushed, desperate on Harry’s fingers and in his mouth, and he saw stars. “Fuck, Draco, you’re so beautiful… you’re so fucking gorgeous, look at you,” he murmured, moving away from his cock and pressing kisses up his stomach. He scrambled up his body and slicked his own aching dick up with lube, his hands shaking with lust. 

He stopped with his cockhead pressed against Draco’s hole, gently prying his hand away from his mouth so he’d stop chewing on it. He kissed the teeth marks on his palm, kissed Draco’s cheekbones, linked their fingers. “You’re so good for me,” Harry murmured in wonder, pressing into him until the cockhead slipped past his rim. Draco’s eyes fluttered shut, still perfectly silent, and Harry thought, through a haze of amazement and lust, that Draco might be holding his breath. “Look at you,” Harry said, unable to stop touching his face, his neck, his hair. “So good, so obedient. You did exactly what I asked you to do, so perfect. God, you’re sexy.”

Draco blinked his eyes open again and looked up at him. His pupils had dilated so much they were almost completely black, soft and slightly vacant. Harry thought, slightly hysterically, that he really should have worked out what he was doing first. Instead he rolled his hips, sliding another inch into him, and Draco’s mouth fell open, his back arching and ribs flexing under Harry’s chest. He was a myth, an impossible vision, and Harry couldn’t believe he was allowed to _kiss_ this man, this perfect being. 

“You’ve been so good for me, baby,” he whispered in Draco’s ear, pulling out a little and thrusting back in, keeping his movements shallow. “I’m so proud of you; fuck, you’re so good. But now… now I want to hear you.”

He pushed all the way inside Draco, explosions firing off through every nerve in his body, and Draco arched again, crying out, almost a scream. “Oh God, yes. Yes, please, Harry, please…”

Harry linked his fingers with Draco’s overhead and rolled his hips, thrusting into him again and again as Draco’s sweet moans and cries filled the room, filled his mind. He could feel the tension building at the base of his spine, desperate for release, and he slipped one hand down to Draco’s cheek. “God, you feel so good. Fuck… fuck, baby, I’m going to come, you’re so good for me, fuck…”

“Yes, please, Harry, come in me, please.” Draco shifted and wrapped both his legs around Harry’s waist, changing the angle so that Harry felt like he was even deeper inside him. Draco’s eyes rolled back and he arched again, meeting Harry’s thrusts, rubbing his weeping cock against Harry’s belly. 

Harry was almost dizzy, his head spinning, and he grabbed Draco’s cock, stripping it wildly as his own release built inside him, making his thrusts erratic and frantic. “Come for me; oh, fuck… fuck, come on baby.”

He felt Draco’s orgasm hit and it pulled him over the edge as he pressed his face into Draco’s collarbone and came hard, pulse after pulse. He clutched tightly to Draco’s heaving chest, his body still shuddering.

As he came back to himself, kissing Draco’s neck, he felt a warm pride glowing in his chest. The logical part of his mind was thinking it was a strange thing to feel proud about, that there were so many other things he was proud of Draco for doing. But he pushed that aside for now.

Harry petted Draco’s ribs, stroking down his side. He sought out Draco’s hand, the one he’d been biting to stop himself from making a noise (because _Harry_ had asked him to stay silent, and he _had_ ). He kissed the red welts Draco’s teeth had made in the flesh at the base of his thumb, rubbing the pad of his palm gently, checking to make sure he hadn’t broken the skin. He gently unwound Draco’s legs from around his hips, sliding away from him and pressing another kiss onto his belly as he slipped off the bed.

Usually they’d use a cleaning charm and tangle themselves together under the duvet, sweaty and exhausted and falling asleep as soon as they could, but this felt different. Harry wet a cloth with warm water and brought it back, cleaning Draco’s arse and crotch, wiping the come off his belly and vanishing the cloth to the laundry basket after giving himself a quick wipe down as well. He climbed back in beside him and rubbed Draco’s hips, rubbed his thighs, rubbed his arms. Draco was looking up at him with a soft, still slightly vacant expression, and Harry brushed the hair out of his eyes, a little worried. He really needed to do some research… “You okay, baby?”

Draco nodded, his eyelids fluttering shut before opening to gaze up at Harry again. “Was I okay?” he asked softly.

“You were perfect,” Harry said, gathering Draco into his arms. He wanted to protect him from the world, wanted to stand guard over him as he slept, but his eyes were drifting shut too.

“Never been good enough for someone,” Draco murmured into his chest, already half asleep. “Never been good before.”

Harry’s tiredness disappeared in an instant and he stared into the night, pulling Draco closer and pressing his face into his hair. His memories of his conversations with Philomena came back, along with all the things he’d noticed about Draco before. 

He’d felt like that, too. Harry closed his eyes and pressed kisses to Draco’s brow, relishing the soft puffs of air against his chest where Draco was settling into sleep. He’d never been told he was good as a child; he’d been told the exact opposite, in fact, and this was just another little sign adding up to a terrible past. He remembered Draco as a child, loud and pointy and spoilt, and wondered if he’d misread everything. If Draco had been bluffing all of it, hiding how he’d been treated at home. He’d thought that Narcissa had loved Draco, but did he really know? Aunt Petunia had always been quite good about pretending to be a kind aunt in school, at parents’ evenings and so on.

He ran his hands down Draco’s flank, and Draco made a little noise and arched towards Harry in his sleep. He didn’t want to do anything to hurt Draco, but how could he know what would hurt him without dredging up painful things? How could he know what would trigger Draco the way he was triggered when he heard someone yelling _boy_ , or when he heard a door slam, or when he made a mistake cooking?

Harry wiped his eyes, almost surprised to find them damp, and held Draco closer, staring into the darkness and wishing he could protect him from his past.

3

“What can I do for you, Potter?” asked Pansy, crossing her legs neatly and nodding to the house elf who poured their tea. “If it’s about donations for the orphanage, you’ll have to wait until the next tax year. Unlike Daddy, I plan to make sure some of the family fortune survives for the next generation.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “It’s not a business call - although I should thank you for the generous donation to the Grimmauld House Shelter.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That was supposed to be anonymous.”

“You have very distinctive handwriting,” he said. “Draco recognised it. He won’t let me put him on the board but…” he huffed. “Well, he does pretty much all of the logistics. I’d be screwed without him. Thank you, Pansy. Starting a shelter for domestic violence victims hasn’t been nearly as well-received as the orphanage.”

“It’s a small community,” she said briskly, focusing on her tea. “People don’t like to believe that a colleague, a school mate, a distant cousin, could ever _possibly_ be responsible for something so…”

“Violent?”

“Uncouth.” She lit a cigarette and sat back. “Keep it in the family.”

Harry snorted. “Wizards and Muggles have more in common than they’d like to think.” She made a wry gesture and he took a deep breath to steel himself. “Actually this isn’t exactly… unrelated.” He twisted his fingers together. “You knew Draco even before school, right? Was his family ever… I mean, was his dad… it’s just, there are all these signs, you see, and--”

“Are you asking me if Draco was abused as a child?” she asked, both eyebrows arching sharply.

“Well, I suppose I am--”

“You can stop right there,” she said, stubbing out her cigarette. “What, did Draco not tell you, so you think you can dig up some--”

“What? No! I haven’t asked him--”

“That’s no better! You’re going behind your partner’s back to find out extremely private information, and you think you’re going to get it from _me?_ What kind of friend do you think I am? Is this what Gryffindor friendships are like?”

“No! Christ’s sake, Pansy, no!” Harry tore his hands through his hair. “Look, I just don’t want to hurt him, okay? I don’t want to walk into something that seems innocent, but to him is actually…”

“Triggering?”

“Yeah! Yeah, that. I just… I don’t want to hurt him more than he already has been.”

Her eyes softened just a little. “Well, that makes it a bit better, I suppose. But still… you’re asking for incredibly sensitive information about a person without their consent. Surely you, with your experience with the press, should be able to understand?”

Harry slumped and dropped his head into his hands. “Yeah… that’s… I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

She nodded and sat back with her tea. “You’ll have to ask him about his childhood. And anyway,” she said, blowing over the surface of the tea, her burgundy lipstick forming a perfect, shiny pout. “A person can look at a family and see a privileged, happy lifestyle, missing all the carefully hidden cruelty that’s kept to the night. And before you take that as an implicit confirmation of Draco’s status, you should know it isn’t. I would say the same for any of my friends.”

Harry nodded, abashed. “Yeah. Thanks, Pansy. Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s nothing,” she said airily, waving her hand. “Talk to him, Potter. Only he knows how he feels about things; only he knows what his triggers might be. Slytherins don’t come with instruction manuals handed out by their best friends.”

He smirked as he stood. “Yeah, yeah, fair point. Thanks again… I’ll see you around.”

He walked for a while after the house elf showed him out, trying to work off some of the shame and frustration mingling in his gut. He was angry with himself for not considering that this might be a betrayal of some sort, but the sly little voice at the back of his mind still murmured that it was a shame she hadn’t just _told_ him. It’s not like he’d abuse the information.

That just made him feel even more guilty, because wasn’t that how all the abusers thought? ‘Oh, it’s okay if _I_ break this trust, because it’s _me_ ; I wouldn’t do anything _truly_ bad.’ ‘Oh, it’s OK if I hit _Harry_ across the face, it’s not like it’s child abuse, not when he’s such a freak; he deserves it.’

He was still wound up by the time he got back home. Wound up and, if he was being honest with himself, a bit triggered. His spiralling guilt and sly justifications had set off a series of flashbacks and visions in which he saw a monstrous version of himself become more and more like Vernon Dursley, making little excuses for his behaviour that turned into bigger and bigger ones until he saw himself as some horrific amalgamation of Vernon and Lucius Malfoy, standing over a young Draco who flinched and blinked up at him, tear-stained and bruised, before hurling him into a cupboard.

He couldn’t even bear to see his own face in the mirror when he got home--his jaw hard, his eyes dull, as old and strong and terrifying as his own abuser had been. Perhaps as Draco’s abuser had been.

Harry stomped into the kitchen, making dinner just to have something to keep himself busy, but it wasn’t working. The frustration and anger and _grief_ over another stolen childhood like his own… he slammed the pan onto the hob as his imagination provided him with all the details Pansy hadn’t. All the signs were right there, all the things Harry had noticed about himself that he could now see in Draco, and it made him so _angry_ that he hadn’t… _something_. Hadn’t saved him. Couldn’t save him. Couldn’t do anything right.

“Harry?”

Harry jumped violently, startled out of his spiral of self-loathing, dropping the dry pasta all over the floor. “Shit!”

“Sorry!”

Harry didn’t answer, crouching down to pick up the shells. After a pause, he heard Draco’s robes rustling, saw his legs appear in his peripheral vision, saw him crouch down to help pick up the pasta.

They worked in silence, the atmosphere thickening, the sneering voices rising in Harry’s head, calling him _useless, selfish, pathetic_. How could Draco even stand to be around him? He couldn’t do anything right.

He rinsed the pasta shells and brought them to a boil, glaring down at an onion as he started to chop it.

“Can I do anything?” asked Draco softly.

Harry shook his head. “No, I’ve got it. You go sit down.”

He saw Draco’s shoulders tense up and his head drop, and he looked up, frowning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make dinner earlier, I should have--”

“You were at work,” Harry said, bewildered. “I didn’t expect you to.”

Draco bit his lip, still tense as a bowstring. “I know I should help out more around the house. You do everything, and I just--”

Harry put his knife down with a clatter and moved towards him. Draco flinched hard, tucking his head down, eyes squeezing shut, hands coming up. Harry froze and wanted to cry. “Baby…” he breathed, heartbroken.

Draco uncurled himself, visibly peeling himself out of his hunched shape. He looked up at Harry, opened his mouth, and shut it again, turned his head to the side. “Sorry,” he muttered, a red flush creeping up his neck.

“Can I hug you? Please?” Harry asked.

“I… um… I mean, you can always hug me, Harry.”

Harry scooped him up in his arms, wanting to surround Draco with love and protection, which was hard when Draco was a good six inches taller. He pressed his face into Draco’s chest.

“I’m so sorry, Love. I never meant to… to remind you of him.”

“Of whom?” asked Draco, his arms coming up to stroke over Harry’s back.

Harry sighed into Draco’s shirt, frustrated and angry with himself. “Uh… your dad?” he guessed. “Whoever it was who made you feel like this.”

Draco frowned, pulling back. “Like what?”

Harry took a deep breath. “Like… like I’m gonna hurt you or something. Like you have to apologise to me all the time. Like you… like you owe me… stuff?” He swallowed hard, his mind skirting around the issue he was so afraid to approach.

“My father didn’t do anything to me… are you okay?”

“Then why…?” Harry swallowed the thick lump in his throat, pushing back against the tears that felt like they’d been threatening for days. “I’ve been there. I know what it looks like when you’ve been… been abused as a kid. You flinch when… when I move too fast, or make loud noises. You think _everything’s_ your fault, you don’t think people believe you when you say something and you…” His voice cracked, and he pressed his face against Draco’s shoulder again. “You think I should just be allowed to… to take what _I_ want from you, even if you don’t…” He sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t need to hear it if you don’t want to tell me but please… I don’t want to hurt you. Please tell me how I can _stop hurting_ you?”

Harry sobbed the last words and pressed closer, so ashamed of taking comfort when Draco was the one who needed it. He’d hurt Draco and now _he_ was crying, and he just… how could he think he was capable of having a relationship when he still hadn’t sorted his own shit out? What was he _doing?_

“My ex,” said Draco, very softly. His hands were clenched in Harry’s shirt. “Jason, he…” He took a deep breath, and when Harry looked up, Draco was staring into the distance, haunted. “He, uh… he used to… to throw stuff.” He looked at Harry like he could confirm or deny it, like he wasn’t able to trust himself, and Harry wiped his tears, keeping his eyes on Draco. “But… I mean, he had a very stressful job and I was…” Draco shook his head. “I’m just weak; it’s fine--”

Harry shook his head and cupped Draco’s cheeks. “You’re not weak; don’t say that. Jason shouldn’t have done that.”

“Come off it, Harry; it’s hardly abuse. And compared to what you’ve been through… I mean, he never dealt out anything I didn’t deserve.”

“What did he… punish you for?”

Draco swallowed and looked away. Harry could see the fine tremor in his hands. “I don’t want you to think badly of me,” he said, almost in a whisper.

“Draco; I think we’ve gone past the point of thinking badly of each other.”

“But that’s just it,” Draco burst out, pushing himself away from Harry. “I was on the wrong side; I was a fucking _Death Eater_ , Harry. I lived with the bloody… the most evil bastard of the last fifty years taking over my family home, and I… I must have done unspeakable things, I must have! Jason said I must have just repressed it, I must have… have been involved in torture, and… and hurting, and… and what if I enjoyed it? What if I’m a horrible, horrible human being, and I’ve just shut it away in my mind, I--?”

“Baby, no; that’s not--”

“How do you know, Harry? How can any of us know what I did?”

“So he… he just punished you for stuff you _might_ have done and then forgotten?”

“Yes!” Draco nodded, like Harry finally understood. “Yes; he wasn’t being abusive, it was all just… discipline.” But he frowned as he finished, glancing to the side.

Harry gritted his teeth, trying to keep his composure, because maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought. “So you asked him to punish you?”

“No, it wasn’t…” Draco frowned again and trailed off.

“So… look, I just want to understand. He hit you because you _might_ have done something bad, something that he saw? Heard about?”

Draco just stared.

“Because it seems more likely that he lost his temper about something, and then justified it by saying you must have done something to deserve it. I mean, maybe I’m wrong, but that seems more likely. Rather than you forgetting - I mean, _are_ there periods of time you can’t remember? From back then?”

Draco snorted, a hysterical, watery sound. “How would I _know_ if I can’t remember?”

“No; look, I mean… blank spots in your memory. Like are there whole days you just… don’t have a catalogue of, I guess? That’s what Ginny asked me when I thought I’d been possessed.”

Draco frowned again. “I don’t…”

“Is Jason the one who made you feel like that about sex? Like you have to give your partner whatever they want?”

Draco crinkled his lip into a full-blooded, Malfoy sneer. “He didn’t _make_ me feel anything, Potter; nobody makes me… Look, it’s just… really important not to be selfish. Especially for me. I’ve got… I’ve got so much selfishness to atone for.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“For God’s sake, Potter! I’m not one of your battered women! Jason wasn’t _abusive_. I mean, sure, sometimes he could be rough, and he had a sharp tongue, but that was because I didn’t… help out enough and I… I was too clingy, you know? Annoying? And there was… he…”

Draco trailed off, staring into space, and Harry waited, fingers clenching and unclenching, wanting to hold him so badly but not wanting to interrupt whatever it was that Draco was seeing.

“He… he slammed my face into the wall,” said Draco, so softly, so lost, and Harry’s breath rushed out of him like he’d been punched. Draco touched a spot just on his hairline. “He, uh… he held my hair and… and sort of… threw me into the wall. I was bleeding… so much. I was so fucking scared.”

“Draco,” Harry whispered, his eyes burning. He stepped forward and reached for him, hesitating. Draco looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, almost fevered. Harry took a step closer, and when Draco leaned into him, he lost no time gathering Draco into his arms tightly.

Draco slumped, his head landing on Harry’s shoulder, his fingers gripping the material of his t-shirt. “He was abusive, wasn’t he?” he said, his voice almost a whimper. “How did I let him get away with this?”

Harry held Draco as he broke into sobs, his body shaking under their force. He murmured wordless sounds of encouragement, stroking his hair, his own eyes damp with grief and anger.

At last Draco pulled back, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. Harry couldn’t resist reaching up to kiss him, pressing his lips gently on Draco’s heated skin.

“How did I let this happen?” Draco said, still sniffling. “How did I let _anyone_ treat me like this? I lived through the Dark Lord taking over my home, and I let this… this arsehole hit me? And… and push me into a wall? He fucking… he _abused_ me! He fucking… how did I not know?”

Harry brushed his hair back, trying to soothe him. “Baby; that’s not how it works. You didn’t _let_ him do anything to you. He did it, and he made you feel like you deserved it afterwards. You didn’t, like, _allow_ him to do any of it.”

“But why didn’t I tell him to stop? Why didn’t I push back, or call him on it, or… or _something?_ It took him cheating on me for me to dig up some fucking self-respect. What is _wrong_ with me?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you--”

“But I let him get away with it!”

“Did I let my Uncle get away with beating the shit out of me?” Harry snapped.

“That’s different. You were a child; it was a totally uneven relationship.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry nodded. “And you were a traumatised young man, fresh from a war, being spat on by imbeciles in the street who never did anything to help the Order when it mattered. Of course it was an uneven relationship! He had all the power, and spent… how long were you with him?”

“Four years,” Draco mumbled, crossing his arms.

“God - four years making sure he took even more of it away from you!” Harry shook his head. “Fuck, Draco. None of this is your fault, okay?”

Draco closed his eyes, grief lining his face. Harry raised his hand to his cheek, brushing his fingertips along his cheekbone. “Permission to hunt him down and beat the shit out of him?”

Draco smiled and leaned into Harry with a sigh. “No. I just want to forget this whole thing ever happened.”

Harry ran his fingers through Draco’s hair. “Well… I won’t hunt him down then, but I don’t think forgetting that it ever happened is the right thing to do. If you’re up for it, I think you should see someone like Philomena.”

Draco huffed. “I don’t need to, Harry. I’ve come this far on my own--”

“I’m not saying you need to. But it would help, I’m sure.”

“There are so many people who need it more than I,” Draco mumbled.

“Don’t see the free Ministry Healers, then. Go private, like me.”

Draco turned his head to look up at him, one guarded grey eye just visible. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

4

Harry leaned his head against the wall as he took off his shoes, exhausted after a long meeting. He didn’t even bother to turn the lights on, planning to slouch into the sitting room and nap on the sofa for an hour until Draco got home.

The faint strains of piano music filtering down the corridor made him look up in surprise.

_Feeling tired_  
By the fire,  
The long day is over. 

He walked into the living room, his fingers trailing along the wall. Draco was standing by the gramophone, his wand out and pointed at the fire, encouraging flames to rise and send soft shadows across the room. Harry leaned against the door jamb, just taking in the tableau in front of him, the definition of home and safety.

Draco turned, a soft smile curling his lips the way only he got to see them, gentle, thoughtful and kind. “I heard you come in,” he said. “And judging by the overdramatic sighs and your general aura of malaise, the meeting was a drag?”

Harry didn’t answer the question, fully occupied with pushing himself off the doorway and kissing Draco. “I thought you’d still be at Hogwarts.”

Draco slipped his arms around Harry’s waist and they swayed to the music, gentle blues working its own magic on them. “Last lesson was cancelled so they could do Apparition classes,” Draco said, nuzzling below Harry’s ear. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

“Thank you,” he said, holding Draco close and sighing into his neck. 

“So, you avoided my question earlier. How did the meeting go?”

Harry groaned and pressed closer. “Rough. Can’t we just get on and _do_ stuff without ticking all the boxes and convincing every Tom, Dick and Harry that it’s the right thing to do?”

“No, Harry,” said Draco, amused. “Because that’s how you get a totalitarianism.”

“I just want to turn my Godfather’s old house into a shelter for domestic violence victims, not take over the world,” he snorted.

Draco just smiled and stroked his hand up and down his back. “Do you want to talk about it, or be distracted from it?” he asked.

Harry felt the tension drain from his shoulders. “Distraction?” he said meekly.

“Then I have just the thing,” Draco said, not giving any indication that he was judging Harry for avoiding his problems. He shifted so he could point his wand at the coffee table and unshrank a small box Harry hadn’t seen. Immediately the rich smell of greasy pizza rose into the warm room, and his mouth watered. 

“You got Dominos?”

“Yes, I got Dominos, though why anyone would prefer that rubbish to Antonio’s authentic calzone is beyond me.”

Harry kissed him, pulled back to stare at him, then kissed him again, swallowing Draco’s moan as his fingers sank into his fine blond hair.

“What was that for?” Draco asked as they pulled apart, his pupils dilated. “Just getting pizza?”

Harry shook his head and kissed him again, holding him closer, feeling Draco’s body undulate like a wave against his own. “For thinking about me. For knowing I might be feeling rough, for… being you.”

Draco laughed, but there was a breathy, wondering quality to it. “For being me?”

Harry nodded. “You think you’ve got it so well hidden under all that sarcasm and snark but you’re the kindest, most thoughtful person I’ve ever met. I don’t know how I deserve you.”

Draco whimpered, his mouth falling open as Harry breathed words of praise into his skin, wishing he’d take them into his heart and believe them. He slid his hands down Draco’s back, cupping his arse and pressing him closer. He fumbled his wand out of the wrist holster and cast a stasis charm on the food.

“What do you want?” Harry asked, kissing his way down Draco’s throat as they stumbled into the bedroom. “You want me to suck you? Do you want to tie me up and ride me like you did last month?” He nipped lightly on Draco’s collarbone, feeling his pulse under his lips as Draco arched and moaned. “Tell me, baby. I want to do whatever you want. Whatever brings that fucking _blush_ up your throat when you think about it.”

Draco hesitated, his breath stuttering. Harry slipped his hand up Draco’s shirt, palming his warm back. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“What if…?”

“If I’m not into it, I’ll tell you,” Harry said, cupping Draco’s face. “Love; if you don’t want to, I’m sure I can think of something,” he grinned, nipping Draco’s lower lip.

“I want… I want to watch you. Touching yourself.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised. Draco’s eyes were closed, a frown appearing above his nose. Harry smoothed it away with his thumb. “Just that?” he asked softly, kissing his cheek.

“I can… I can touch myself for you?” He opened his eyes, looking almost sideways at Harry.

Harry was confused by Draco’s shyness. He’d seen him with his ankles up around his ears screaming Harry’s name, he’d licked him out until Draco was almost sobbing, but this was what he wanted? Harry nodded and kissed him deeply. 

“I don’t know where it’ll end up,” said Draco, his voice growing stronger between kisses. “But I want to start off like that. With you… showing me how you like it. Spread out just for me because… because you trust me?”

The lightbulb went off behind Harry’s eyes and he smiled. “I do trust you.” He took a step back and shucked his button-up shirt, sitting on the bed to pull off his trousers and boxers.

He realised what Draco had meant about trust as he lay on his back naked, looking up at a fully-clothed Draco. He tucked one arm behind his head and tried not to let on how awkward he felt, how he doubted whether he’d look sexy enough.

“What are you thinking?” asked Draco, his eyes darting hungrily over him.

“I’m…” Harry huffed. “I’m hoping I can make this good for you,” he admitted. He bit his lip and blinked, brushing his fingers down the length of his own prick and inhaling harshly as it twitched.

“You’re always so good to me,” said Draco, the flush that Harry loved so much rising up his neck. “I want to see what gives you the most pleasure. I want to… want to see your face when you’re lost to it.”

Harry ran his thumb up the frenulum and wrapped his fingers loosely around himself, the pressure maddeningly light, prickling out along his thighs, up his body. He wanted to tell Draco that whatever Harry could do to himself paled next to anything he could do with Draco, but he didn’t want Draco to think he was unwilling. Instead, he looked up at Draco. “I think of you when I do this, you know.” 

Draco’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he stroked his hands down his own shirt, flicking the buttons open, looking back at Harry, his gaze roving over him. 

Harry felt himself twitch and arched into his own hand. “I think of all that pale skin of yours, kissing and marking it. And your nipples.” He groaned and gave a little twist on the upstroke. Draco shed his shirt and knelt on the bed next to Harry.

“I think about you… you in the shower, all slippery… that time you opened me up and fucked me against the cold tiles. - God, you should top more, Draco, your cock…”

Draco’s hands were trembling as he pushed his trousers and briefs off, his long cock bouncing free, almost purple with need. Harry groaned as Draco curled his elegant fingers around himself. “God, you’re so fucking sexy.”

Draco stared at Harry’s cock, now sliding deeper and faster into Harry’s fist, his foreskin pulling up and over the head each time. He cupped his own balls with one hand and stroked his cock with the other, knees spread wide and eyes still fixed on Harry like he hadn’t already spent a year intimately acquainted with him in every way.

“I can’t wait to see you come,” Harry groaned.

Draco blinked and his gaze flickered away. “Jason laughed at me,” he said softly, almost lost. “He said… said my face looked hilarious when I was trying to come.”

Harry faltered, jolted out of the growing haze of his arousal by anger and sorrow. He used his free hand to tug Draco closer, kiss his dazed face. “Jason lied,” he said. He sat up and draped his thighs over Draco’s knees and kissed him again. “He’s full of absolute shit. There’s nothing funny about you when you’re lost in pleasure. It’s just hot as fuck.”

“I was trying,” Draco said, slightly breathless, his hand speeding, his eyes looking up at Harry, almost desperate. “I was trying so hard; he’d finished, and _fuck_ , it just didn’t--”

“Hey, hey.” Harry held his wrist and Draco slumped into his shoulder with a whimper of defeat. “Hey, love; it’s okay. You don’t need to try. If it’s not happening, it’s not happening.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered, his voice thick with restrained tears. “I’m so sorry, I’ve fucking ruined it again, and I’m just… fucking _hell_. Why did I… why does my brain _do_ that? I don’t need to think of _him_ when I’m with you. I don’t _want_ to, and now…” He hunched into himself, pressing his shaking hands to his face. “Why do you even put up with me? I’m useless!”

“Put up with you?” Harry gaped, holding Draco’s shoulders. “Are you serious? I spend every day walking around in a daze because you’re still with _me!”_

“I just keep… fucking this _up_. And I… I can’t help thinking that it’ll get… that you’ll realise I’m more hassle than I’m worth.”

“What, because you’ve got some stuff to work through?” asked Harry, raising his eyebrows. “Are you forgetting that I come home some days and need to shut myself in a cupboard?” He pulled Draco closer, wrapping him up in his arms. “And you do know there’s more to us than sex, right? Because I’d give up ever having sex with you again if I get to spend every day laughing at your sarcastic comments that help me get through those hateful ministry balls, or working out policies for the shelter and the orphanage - I honestly wouldn’t be able to do that myself, Draco, I’d give up. And you stay up late working those out with me _and_ then go in to teach the next morning! And then _just now_ you welcome me home with blues music and my favourite pizza because you know I might have had a bad day, how can you say you’re anything less than amazing?” 

He stroked Draco’s hair back off his face, trying to meet his eyes where they were hidden against Harry’s shoulder. “Or... you know when I feel like hell and I want to hide from the world?” Harry continued softly. “You do this thing where you gather me up on your lap and your arms and legs all wrap around me like nothing could ever get to me, and you sing - yeah, I know you’re embarrassed but I love it so much when you sing to me. You make me feel safe and loved like nobody ever has. In my _life_. This is what I love you for, Draco,” he said, tapping Draco’s temple. “Your cock is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but I just want _you.”_

Draco laid a hand on Harry’s chest and tilted his head to look up at him. “You cheesy fool.”

Harry shrugged and grinned, pulling him closer and tugging the blankets over them both. “You love me anyway.”

“I do,” said Draco softly.

5

Draco agreed to see one of Philomena’s colleagues a week later. Harry smiled and asked for the recommendations. The whole process felt like one deep breath before diving into dark waters.

It took Draco a while to start trusting Healer Bahati, and once he did, Harry made sure to come home early that one day a week, to make tea and check on the cocoon of blankets in their bed, and just be around, maybe brush his hair out of his face and kiss him before leaving him to sleep. He never tried to get Draco to talk about any of it, didn’t treat him like a wounded animal. He remembered his own friends’ palpable _worry_ every time his own depression had flared up in the early days, and it hadn’t made his recovery easy. He didn’t want Draco to feel like there was any pressure to get better before he was ready. 

There were times when Harry sat in the darkness of the gathering dusk and wondered if he was the right person to help Draco. How could he possibly be good enough? He’d been in therapy for years, and showed no signs of reaching the bottom of his cesspool of issues.

And then Draco curled up in his arms one night and whispered, “I realised today that you’re the only person I trust. You, and Bahati.” And Harry smiled kisses into his temple, warmth spreading through his bones like sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> I ended up trying to approach consent in a LOT of different ways in this fic, so hopefully it doesn't feel too scraped thin! Of course there's the way that Draco doesn't really appreciate that his own consent matters in sex at first - he assumes that if his partner wants it, he's just got to put up and provide, no matter what. This is really difficult for Harry to notice, but when he realises he hasn't been getting full consent from Draco, he's horrified. He then makes a point of waiting for Draco to come to him next time so he's not pressurised in any way.
> 
> The fic also discusses consent in terms of information sharing - Harry goes to Pansy for information which he thinks is a kind thing, he's just trying to make sure he doesn't trigger Draco. But he's doing so without Draco's consent, and that's potentially a terrible betrayal of trust (and honestly if he just went to Draco with his issues in the first place he wouldn't have stressed himself out so much worrying that Draco was abused as a child.)
> 
> Finally there are smaller bits of consent here and there. Harry seeks Draco's consent to track Jason down and beat him up, and he respects it when Draco refuses. He knows it would be helpful for Draco to see a therapist, but he won't push it without Draco's consent. Draco asks Harry if he's willing to try something new in bed, and Harry tells him he'll make it clear if he isn't enjoying it. They both check in with each other a lot to make sure they're OK at every stage, and when Draco becomes distressed and triggered, even though they're well on the way to an orgasm, that's the end of it and they both stop together to make sure they're well.


End file.
